


what tender tailor came and pushed a thread through each of us

by hamiltrashed



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: But the frottage is also only sort of implied, Daryl is worried, First Time, Frottage, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Morning After, Morning Kisses, Rick is reassuring, Soz about that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 07:31:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5325860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamiltrashed/pseuds/hamiltrashed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick and Daryl finally get around to finding their way into bed together. And then the morning comes.</p><p>[Written for the Rickyl Writer's Group November 800-word challenge!]</p>
            </blockquote>





	what tender tailor came and pushed a thread through each of us

**Author's Note:**

> Somehow, this just barely managed to be finished in time, just before the November challenge is due to end. What can I say, I'm a procrastinator. -shrugs- I hope you guys enjoy it! As always, my beta, Michelle_A_Emerlind, is a queen and you should all rush off to read everything she's ever written.

Daryl wants to tell himself that in the harsh light of day, it will be different. That when the first splash of watered down orange-pink appears on the horizon, they will go back to the way it’s always been. It would certainly be easier for the sun to rise and for nothing to have happened in the night, or for them to at least _pretend_ it didn’t. But the sun rises as usual and that bell has already been rung and there are teeth marks on Daryl’s collarbone to prove it. There’s a subtle, raw chafe between his thighs that stings like Rick is still rubbing his unshaven jaw along the soft skin there. And there’s a rough, stuttery feeling in the pit of his belly that aches the way hunger does, only it’s not food he’s longing for, it’s blue eyes and the way Rick’s hands felt on his body in the dark of a dirty prison cell. The way Rick’s arm feels curled over him now.

So it’s not like Daryl doesn’t _want_ what happened -- much to the contrary, he wants it, needs it so much that he’s sure it’s all he’ll think about for days. It’s only that he’s not sure what’s going to be expected of him now. He doesn’t even know what Rick wants. After all, it’s not exactly like they _talked_ a lot, unless cuss words and moans count as discussion these days (and they could; Daryl wasn’t particularly up on socially acceptable means of communication pre-end of the world and now it seems like anything goes). At the very least, it’s a given that Rick wants _Daryl_ , if last night is anything to go by. But Daryl isn’t sure if he’s supposed to be all domestic and ‘honey-I’m-home’ now, or if it’s just sex, or if it’s love and sex and some other kind of romantic bullshit he’s never fuckin’ heard of.

Because Rick is so very unlike Daryl. Even in the moments when his head is on backward and he’s seven shades of batshit crazy, he just seems to understand the intricacies of the world in a way that Daryl does not. Oh, Daryl knows the earth like the back of his hand without question. The dirt and the trees are _his_ much in the way that he belongs to them. But everything else is Rick’s domain; in the war room of his head, all the pieces are in place and he knows just what to do with them at every second. So even if Daryl doesn’t know what’s coming next, he’s sure that Rick must, and if he can only get his tongue around the words “What are we?” then maybe he’ll be privy to some kind of worldly secret, too.

But when he turns over in the cramped bunk to face Rick, Daryl finds that he can’t speak at all. There would be a certain pleasure in pretending that he’s upholding some kind of reputation that he might have built by now, but Daryl can’t lie to himself, has never been able to. He’s goddamn speechless, close to breathless just looking at Rick. Because there was nobody, and then there was Rick. And up ‘til now, there’s been Rick, but there’s also been nothing going on. Until Rick said _Daryl_ the night before in a way that meant something different, and Daryl found himself on top of Rick with a lot less clothing and a little more confidence than he ever remembers having.

Rick smiles and traces his fingers up along Daryl’s hip, then down over his stomach. He moves in closer and pushes his face into Daryl’s neck, kissing and sucking and licking as if this has always been something they’ve done, familiar as breathing, as blinking. Daryl lets him slide one leg between his own, and when Rick presses his hips right up against Daryl’s, he knows that Rick can feel that he’s already hard, already _wanting_. He can feel the warmth of Rick’s breath on his skin when he huffs out a laugh and whispers, “You don’t waste time, huh?”

Daryl shakes his head. “Wasted enough already, haven’t we?”

“Yes,” Rick breathes, nodding in agreement. And despite the fact that Daryl knows Rick hasn’t always had to wake up alone, he’s sure he can see relief in Rick’s eyes when he pulls back to look at him, a sudden lack of loneliness. Somewhere in the blue, a small sign of a need that has been satisfied, and something else, too, awake and alive and burning like wildfire.

So when Rick slowly rocks his hips against Daryl’s, murmurs things in Daryl’s ear like _need you_ and _stay_ , Daryl abruptly understands that he doesn’t _have_ to know everything yet. It is enough to have woken up and been reborn.

**Author's Note:**

> Title borrowed from the Hey Rosetta! song _What Arrows_.


End file.
